The Drink of Choice
by Wakkomonkey9258
Summary: Alchohol in the Legion is strictly forbidden. Vulpes knows and adheres to this rule without pause. Of course, Lanius is not so acknowledgeable of the rules and Vulpes suddenly finds himself drawn under the influence for the most unforeseeable of reasons.


The Drink of Choice

Vulpes never liked wine, or any alcohol for that matter. The Frumentarii found that liquor was a damning drink, one that dulled the senses and suppressed the pain one needed to grow stronger. Wine was allowed in the fort and in the entire Legion only on special holidays or events, after a major victory for example. Vulpes specifically forbade alcohol in any of the Frumentarii squadrons he commanded, but sometimes liquor was somehow able to slip in regurdless of his strict order.

Which was why when Vulpes found Legate Lanius with a several glasses of wine near him, the Frumentarii was incensed, "Wine is forbidden in the Fort, Legate."

Lanius nodded lethargically, then grasped a still full of cup of wine to pour through the mouth carved into his mask, "So it is, Vulpes."

The fox hooded man waited for several moments, expecting the Legate to add to his statement. When none came, and Lanius had poured another glass of the vile drink down his throat, Vulpes glared at the metal clad man, "I would advise you stop indulging in it then Legate, before you become even more unfocused than you undoubtably are already."

The Legate scoffed in return, "You and your big words Vulpes, and if you must know, I am not tipsy. It takes more than seven drinks to knock me out of my chair."

"Seven!"

"Or was it eight?" Lanius began counting on his fingers slowly, before giving up on remembering, "The point is I am not tipsy."

Vulpes gave the Legate a flat stare, "What number comes after five?"

The Legate abruptly slammed his fist down on the table in front of him, all the while crying out in a forceful voice, "Seventeen and a half!"

Momentarily taken aback, Vulpes sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose with a rising sense of irritation, "Incorrect Lanius, the correct answer is six." Vulpes crossed his arms over his lean chest, "I will have to report your sudden addiction to Caesar, Legate."

"It's not an addiction," Lanius corrected, "Its a fixative hook."

The Frumentarii had to resist the urge to slap his forhead, "Those two words are both synonyms for addiction, Legate."

"What's a synom. . . shinonym. . . sinosin?"

"_Synonym_," Vulpes enunciated, "A word is a synonym if its definition is similar to another word."

"I know that," Lanius growled moodily.

Now suddenly curious, Vulpes stepped forward and stared at the many empty glasses. Vulpes counted eight empty, and their were still seven glasses still full. In the corner of the tent, Vulpes saw a bottle of wine thrown away callously on the ground. Arching an eyebrow inquisistively, Vulpes set aside telling Caesar for the moment and focused on getting information. That was his job after all, "What brought this sudden craving on, Legate?"

"It's a bad day," Lanius grumbled, sounding incredibly miserable as he downed another drink, "Fourteen years ago today I got my ass married to some woman. She was wonderful and all that lovey dovey crap. Then she did something bad and I killed her. Real despressing."

Now well freaked out by the Legate's explanation, Vulpes barely managed to catch the sound of the Legate sniffing sadly. Feeling incredibly uncomfortable, and having no idea how to comfort an emotionally wrecked Legate, Vulpes cleared his throat awkwardly and slowly began to slide toward the exit from the tent. "Um, good luck with that."

"Wait," the Legate growled, his earlier bravado coming back, "You have a girlfriend, don't you Vulpes?"

Vulpes almost choked on his own saliva, "No!"

"What about the courier?"

"Our relationship is strictly professional," Vulpes spluttered hastily. Damnit, why did this always come up whenever he had any sort of interaction with Lanius. It was even worse that the man was drunk.

"You still called it a relationship," Lanius pointed out, a breathy giggle escaping the Legate's mask.

Putting aside the fact that the Monster of the East had just actually giggled, Vulpes scowled darkly at the tipsy Legate, "You know what I mean!"

"No I don't."

Vulpes felt his eye twictch sporadically under his goggles, "Why are you even bothering to ask?"

"Well you insist that she isn't in to you, I thought you could share a couple miserable drinks with me."

Vulpes frowned in confusion, "Why would I do such a thing?"

"Well, you clearly like her, and since you say she doesn't like you then I thought you'd know how I felt."

Vulpes winced at the Legate's words, all the while feeling a large amount of anger rise up frm his stomach all the way up to where his heart was, "No, that is not how I feel Legate, at all."

"Oh," Lanius seemed to deflate, "Well, do you still want to share a drink?"

"No," Vulpes declined, "You know I disapprove of alchohol."

"So?"

"So I won't be a hypocrite and drink wine over a woman."

Lanius raised a glass of wine and offered it to the Frumentarii, "Come on, break the rules by my side Vulpes."

Vulpes opened his mouth to refuse, and then stopped when the thoughts that he had attempted to suppress came back with a vengeance. How that woman enjoyed the company of her companions more than him, how she never looked at him like he looked at her. He wanted her but could never have her. Vulpes felt a feeling of despair tighten his chest, and then found that he couldn't shove it off as he usually could. Vulpes winced, and then felt his mouth become as dry as the Mojave Desert. He stared at the offered glass, struggled with his own will for a long moment, then sighed as he took the glass, "Just one," The Fox headed man growled.

"They always say that."

000

Six drinks later, Lanius and Vulpes were staring at each other blankly with no expression on their faces. Caesar looked at the sight with a sense of confusion, surprised that the two weren't getting into their normal battle of wits and arguments. The Emperor of the Legion cautiously took several steps forward, expecting an explosion like an NCR bombshell any moment. Then Caesar saw several emptied glasses of some liquid. He also saw a discarded bottle, which clearly read as some sort of wine. Caesar rolled his eyes, that summed it up pretty well.

"What are you two doing?"

Snapping out of their respective trances, the two slowly turned to stare at their leader, which they didn't seem to register since they didn't even bother to greet him in the traditional manner. "Ummmmmmmm. . ."

"In the name of Mars," Caesar snapped in exasperation, then pointed a finger at Lanius, "You I can imagine doing something as audacious as getting drunk when it is forbidden, but you too Vulpes?"

"Woman shuck," Vulpes groused.

"Here, here, brother!" Lanius cried in agreement, which gave Caesar pause.

The Emperor scoffed at the two, "Is that what this is all about? Some woman?"

"The courier, sire," Lanius piped up.

"Shut up," Vulpes snapped, burying his head in his arms.

"Vulpes is drinking over the profligate?" Caesar asked, hardly believing.

"Yes, sire."

"Am not!" Vulpes cried out in protest, which was slightly muffled by his arms.

"Bah," Caesar growled, throwing up his arms with irritation, glaring furiously at his Legate and chief spy with equal amounts of fury. "I don't have time for this, I'll deal with you both later. Just clean yourself up and meet me in my tent tomorrow." Then the Emperor turned and stalked out of the tent. By Mars he had a headache.

Lanius and Vulpes stared after their leader, feeling confused at why some bald guy had been randomly shouting at them. "Sire?" Vulpes grunted disbelievingly.

"Sut up," Lanius murmurred, "Don mock me over ma. . . Uh, what were we talkin 'bout?"

Their was silence on Vulpes' end, and when Lanius looked over he saw that the Frumentarii had silently fallen unconscious and slipped out of his chair. The Legate grunted and mumbled quietly to himself. Slowly, he stood and stumbled out of the tent, half conscious and completely drunk. Five seconds later, Legionaries started shouting as the Legate suddenly cried in a drunken rage and swung his fists about at the closest soldiers and slaves.

About ten seconds later, Caesar could be heard publicly shouting at the fist swinging Legate, "FOR THE SAKE OF MARS, SOMEONE KNOCK HIM OUT!" Cries of rage were suddenly replaced by sobs of repressed emotions from the Legate.

Meanwhile, Vulpes, seeming to sense just how humorous the scene was, smiled in his sleep.


End file.
